


So Pretty

by Areiton



Series: The Kink Chronicles [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Caning, Coming Untouched, Dom Castiel, Dom/sub, M/M, Marking, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Castiel, Shibari, Sub Dean, Subspace, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 12:09:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12934971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: He sags in his bonds, held immobile by something—someone—other than himself, and gives himself over to what Castiel has decided he needs.





	So Pretty

**Author's Note:**

> Kinks: Marking, Caning, Display, Coming Untouched, Exhibitionism, Shibari

He could feel the silk digging into his skin.

He could feel the cool of the fan as it spun lazy circles, and he turned slowly with it.

He could feel the pressure of bright blue eyes, watching him, and the heat of the marks on his back.

_ You know I love pretty things to look at, Dean. And you—this skin. It’s the prettiest canvas, sweetheart. I just need to add a little touch of color. _

He hung in Castiel’s knots and ropes, and he wanted to weep. From the ache of the plug in his ass, to the still sharp sting of the cane where it had landed, to the steady grounding ropes that held him suspended and spinning just a little—every sensation wrapped him up in Cas.

_ I wanna forget him, Cas. Wanna forget everything but you for just a little while.  _

Cas had taken him at his word, and taken everything--his safewords and his clothes, his sight and his mobility, taken it all until Dean was nothing more than a pretty object, one of so many in Castiel’s collection, his breathing slow and even as Castiel moved around him.

With the gag in and the blindfold—black silk to match the ties that held him—he could only  _ feel _ and listen to the soft noises of Castiel around him.

_ Do you trust me, sweetheart? Trust that I know what is best for you? _

He hung suspended, arms stretched wide, head pulled up, back arched just a little, legs secured together and straight behind him. A simple bow kept his hard cock tucked to his chest.

_ Cas, please. Castiel. Need you. _

The thing about Castiel is—he never gave Dean what Dean wanted.

He can hear Castiel now, the low groans and the slick slide of his hand on his cock, and his mouth waters behind the ball gag. He makes a noise low in his throat, more whine than anything else and Castiel pauses, laughs soft before he resumes slowly jerking himself off.

Dean keeps the small groan of want to himself, holds himself still, to catch the tiny noises Castiel makes. The little sighs and the bitten off curses, the groans he makes when his hand speeds up and Dean tenses, his cock jerking against the silk as Cas comes, white hot wet on his back before he spins, faster than before and his stomach jerks as he flails, as much as the ropes allow.

Cas is laughing, soft, when the come splashes against Dean’s face, over his lips stretched wide and the blindfold and his cheek.

_ He touched me, Castiel. I don’t want to feel him. Just want you. _

It cools on his skin, and Dean wants—

Dean  _ wants _ . Wants to lick it off his skin and wants to see it on his back, the pale white against freckles and livid pink marks.

He wants to roll in it and revel in it and sink down so deep in this sensation that he can never feel anything but Castiel’s gaze. He wants to curl in Castiel’s arms and warmth until he can’t remember the feel of cold fingers digging under his jaw and too full, lush lips pressing hard against his own. 

He wants the touch of his Dom to erase the feel of anything else. 

From far away, he can hear the doorbell ring.

_ Do you trust me, sweetheart? Will you trust me to give you exactly what you need? _

Panic spikes, hot and choking and he wants to tap out, wants to safeword, but he  _ can’t.  _ He gave that up when he agreed to this—to whatever Castiel wanted. The only thing—

_ I don’t want you to share me, Cas. I—I just want to be yours. _

He hears the soft whisper of pages turning, and he can feel the sensation of something--someone--near him, near but not touching. A door opens, and Castiel moves, away from him.

He can feel someone watching him, can feel the heat of Castiel—close but not so close he can touch, just the ghost of sensation.

“Michael. The papers are on my desk,” Castiel says, and his voice is loose and low and confident, not at all like the bastard who had been trying to steal Dean—seduce, bribe, blackmail—away from Castiel for months was standing a few feet away.

“Castiel. What the hell is this?” He can hear the anger and surprise in Michael’s voice, and it makes something in him flinch. He makes a noise, so soft it’s lost against his gag, and the ropes on his right arm shift, a little, tighten, like Castiel is touching him. It soothes him and he releases the breath he is holding, leaning further into his bonds.

There is a soft pad of steps and the heat retreats. Dean shudders, that empty feeling yawning in his chest. He can feel goosebumps, feel the ropes sliding, his cock shriveling a little.

“This is how I enjoy my things, on a Saturday night, Mikey.”

Nothing in Castiel’s tone changes. It’s still that deep, even rumble, steady and shaking and perfect, and Dean knows it.

_ Trust me, sweetheart? You are doing so good. So perfect for me. _

Dean wants to whine. Wants to whimper and lean into the line of heat that he knows is Castiel, that is so close he can almost feel it.

But right now.

Right now he is a pretty canvas, a lovely  _ thing _ to look at and enjoy and Michael is watching.

_ I want to forget him, wanna remember that I’m yours. _

“What do you do on Saturday nights?” Castiel asks, like his lover is not tied up, naked and shaking and cover in come and bruises, two inches away. A smile plays in his voice and Dean—Dean shudders and gives in. 

He comes with a muffled whimper and feels Castiel's murmured praise and it yanks him under. 

Slides into subspace so fast and complete that even though he knows Michael answers—he doesn’t hear it.

All he can hear is the thump of his heart and the rustle of Castiel’s pants, close. Close. So close.

He sags in his bonds, held immobile by something—someone—other than himself, and gives himself over to what Castiel has decided he needs.

_ You look so pretty, when you’re mine. _

Castiel doesn’t always give him what he wants. But as Dean floats on the silky knots and in that delicious space that only Cas can send him to—he knows that Castiel will always give him what he needs.


End file.
